"If this world were to end, there would only be you... and him... and no one else."
-Dr Lilian Thurman, Donnie Darko
"Come on Tarquin..." Emily spoke gently, the pale, cloud filtered light filling the gaps between the door that framed her. Tarquin slipped on his musty grey suit and looked toward her, unable to see her backlit face. "...Tarquin"
"I'm coming" he replied, getting used to the smooth leather soles of his father's shoes and walking to the backlit girl.
The two walked to the car, the gravel of his parent's poorly sealed driveway announcing the start of their journey to the funeral home. Tarquin opened the door to Emily's car "Thank you..." he said, Emily stopped, looking up at the awkward man child "For coming with me... I appreciate it." Emily gave a smile, he hadn't seen that smile in a long time. Tarquin missed that smile and replied with the same. Emily had not seen his for longer, she too missed it.
The pale ghostly white light that shone through the overcast sky seemed to wash out the city, bringing out the greys and silvers for all to see. The moisture in the air could be felt in the sinuses and between the joints. The atmosphere was heavy, low and distant, clouds rubbing together in the horizon, creating static to be held and discharged at a later time and place. The old Chrysler moved slowly between the early Saturday traffic, the two sat, their silences rubbing together, creating static.
The funeral home was of the usual garish limestone brickwork reminiscent of the Nineties. The glare of the clouds reflecting the sun was no more evident and damaging to the eyes than here. Squinting, Tarquin stepped out of the old Chrysler cursing the fact the he was doomed to wander the Earth with a head that would make the trendiest sunglasses look awkward and misplaced. His father waited for them by the entrance "Emily, it's great to see you girl" he greeted her with a kiss to the cheek, then looking to Tarquin's feet "Nice shoes"
"Where's Sylvia?" Tarquin asked, ignoring the shoes comment
"Tark, please" Tarquin's father placed his hand on his son's shoulder "Today, you will call her mother...please" Tarquin replied with a nod "Thanks boy. I appreciate it..." he rubbed Tarquin's hair "Go say hello to your Mother" he ordered with a slap on Tarquin's back.
Five hours later
Tarquin's head leant against the car window, looking at a bubble in the tint, the trees of his parent's neighbourhood distorting as they pass through it. Tarquin; drunk, tired, looks at Emily. He hadn't seen her in years but it was really only months, exactly three months to the day. Three months to the day she had broken up with him in a shitty chain coffee shop in a shitty chain mall. Three months to the day he had his nose broke. Three months and one day ago she was his. She catches him looking "What?" she inquired, her eyes frustrated. "That man knows who killed Osric."
Three hours earlier.
The old Chrysler pulled back into the poorly sealed driveway, joining the ranks of other cars now parked at the charming character house in a charming character suburb. Two older gentlemen in silvered moustaches were slouched on the cedar railing of the balcony, smoking, drinking, chewing. Tarquin stepped out of his ex girlfriend's vehicle, the smell of pipe and cigar, gin and rye, cheese and frankfurts. They give Tarquin a friendly nod and light pat on the shoulder, their mouths dry with ashen tongues. His father hears Tarquin enter and calls from the kitchen "Tark!" summoned, the son walks down the jarrah floored corridor. "What took ya?" the older Dangerfield asked. "There was an accident on Seville, traffic took for ever" the younger replied
"Typical, all those nosey bastards rubber necking. Should'a took Chelmsford"
"Yeah... well... we're here now"
"hmmm" the father drained the rest of the Glenmorangie and slapped Tarquin on the back, Tarquin not letting the sting show. "You did a great job back there kid!" the father moving to Emily, "...and you. You're beautiful, come here!" the large, portly man embracing Emily "This one is a good one Tarquin! I like this one, you look after this one!"
"He does, don't worry" she replied, going along with it.
One hour earlier.
"The wake shall be held at Mr and Mrs Dangerfield's residence. They invite you all to join them there. Thankyou and may God be with you" the Chaplain preached as the gaggle went their seperate ways. Tarquin looked around the maudlin crowd, the cemetery; a beautiful green, shaded by ancient oaks gave a surreal hue. On a small mound, beside one of the old oaks Tarquin spotted a man. He stood by the trunk, cigarette smoking, black suit. blonde hair, thick black glasses. Tarquin squinted through the glare as the black figure sipped at a takeaway coffee mug. "Tarquin!" a hand broke his curious gaze, Emily "You did good Tarquin" she said with a punch to the arms, her soft smile almost wiping his memory of everything but. "Whatchya lookin' at?" Emily asked, wrapping her arm into his. Tarquin looked back at the old oak on the hill "Nothing".
Four hours later.
Tarquin sat on the brown couch, the test on the television, a single malt resting in his hands resting on the brown couch. "You're Tarquin aren't you?" a voice called through the commentary of the cricket. Tarquin looked to the voice interrupting his drunken malaise. The man from the hill. "It could be" he took another sip of the brown liquour "depends who's asking." The man reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a white handkerchief and placing it over the neighbouring arm chair before sitting "My name is Niles" he added, shaking Tarquin's hand "I'm sorry for the loss of your brother Mr Dangerfield" as Niles spoke he busied himself, pulling out an alcohol wipe, opening it, cleaning his hands, he did this without thinking, feverishly, as if an outside force were compelling him "I represent my client. Now my client is not unreasonable. My client is sad for you loss and understands that it must be hard to lose a member of the family..." Tarquin's knuckles whitened around his tumbler, teeth clenched. "I've been fortunate enough to have access to the police reports Mr Dangerfield and I assure you that there was no third party involved in your brother's death..." Tarquin's heart skipped and rallied, his pulse grew faster "Your brother was a fucked up loser junkie nothing mor..." Tarquin threw the contents of his glass onto the floor, grabbing Niles' freshly pressed, crisp white shirt and pressing the glass tumbler against his face but not breaking it. "Nothing more?" Tarquin growled through teeth clenched firm. His plan would be to watch it crack and smash into Mr Niles' face. Watching the glass burst and enter... "What the fuck is going on in my house?!" Tarquin's father boomed "Tarquin?!"
"It's alright Mr Dangerfield..." Niles replied, staring at Tarquin "... I believe I was just leaving" Niles slid slowly out of Tarquin's grip. "Thankyou for you time" he said, collecting the handkercheif from the arm chair and left, quietly, cold. Tarquin looked at his father, dropping the tumbler to the floor, the glass splintering and scattering underneath the nice furniture. "I think you should too boy. Go sleep it off..." the father said, sipping at his Glenmorangie and floating back into the other room "...Emily, take your fancy fella home".
"Who the hell was that?" Emily asked, she had heard the noise from the garden and had come, undetected by Tarquin to investigate. "Just an old friend..." Tarquin replied, walking to the long mahogoney hallway, staring down it "...nothing more."
To be continued...
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Four and Twenty Black Birds
"Smokey, my friend, you are entering a world of pain."
- Walter Sobchak, The Big Lebowski.
"Thing is..." he said, lighting the cigarette and giving it to his companion "I don't mind" he continued, wiping the tears and sweat from his companion's face. "I mean what do you do for a living? You're a Businessman? A Tailor? A Waiter? Do you think twice about it? Do you ever wonder about doing something different?" His companion shook his head, his eyes winced, blood gently carressing his ears "No" he smiles and kneels down next to his companion "I didn't think so" he adds, taking the cigarette out of his companion's mouth for a drag then placing it back between the quivering lips "That's why I like you. That's why I feel like I have to explain myself" he stands and walks over to the bed "This is what I do" he turns, smiling "If I am a Tailor then you are my suit" he turns around and drains the takeaway coffee cup on the bedside table. "Who knows? Maybe in another life we could have been friends. Go drinking, picking up girls, double date, see a movie, watch the big... game." He turns back to his companion, something dull, long, matte black and metal in his blue gloved hand. He pauses for a moment, studying his companion, staring "But to be honest, I find the idea of that kind of life quite boring, replusive even. When I see those... people... cattle, I'm convinced I've made the right decision. Guidance councellor be damned. Do you know what I'm saying? No?" He points the object at the head of his companion and pulls the trigger, quickly, quietly. "No" he sighs, throwing the object back on the bed and wrapping his companion in the plastic beneath. "Nobody understands me"
The warm amber halogen lights to the apartment turn on, the large red door closes. "Baby!?" he asks, a quick loving sound of Baby replies as she bounces onto the kitchen counter and purrs to greet him. "Miss me?" he puts the matte black metal suitcase down "Daddy just has to wash his hands" he explains, walking to the bathroom, making sure to wash both sides of each hand four times and scrub his fingernails. After cleaning the mirror and the bathroom just to make sure, vacuuming his lounge room just to make sure, changing his sheets just to be sure, feeding and brushing Baby, he sits, a warm green tea in hand, opposite his computer. He waits for the computer to boot up by going through his Swedish furniture catalogue, circling what he wants, the Bëklus shelf series, the Miningrodä chaise/couch combination provided in a sophisticated brown, tan or black leather. Baby jumps up into his lap and nestles lovingly into him "I love you too" he laughs, stroking the nape of Baby's neck, she purrs. He checks his mail, discarding the advertisements and promotions for soft porn and longer erections with disdain, settling on an important email, opening it. "It looks like Daddy's finally getting a head in this industry" he smiled, tapping the desk in excitement. "Tarquin? That's a funny name."
- Walter Sobchak, The Big Lebowski.
"Thing is..." he said, lighting the cigarette and giving it to his companion "I don't mind" he continued, wiping the tears and sweat from his companion's face. "I mean what do you do for a living? You're a Businessman? A Tailor? A Waiter? Do you think twice about it? Do you ever wonder about doing something different?" His companion shook his head, his eyes winced, blood gently carressing his ears "No" he smiles and kneels down next to his companion "I didn't think so" he adds, taking the cigarette out of his companion's mouth for a drag then placing it back between the quivering lips "That's why I like you. That's why I feel like I have to explain myself" he stands and walks over to the bed "This is what I do" he turns, smiling "If I am a Tailor then you are my suit" he turns around and drains the takeaway coffee cup on the bedside table. "Who knows? Maybe in another life we could have been friends. Go drinking, picking up girls, double date, see a movie, watch the big... game." He turns back to his companion, something dull, long, matte black and metal in his blue gloved hand. He pauses for a moment, studying his companion, staring "But to be honest, I find the idea of that kind of life quite boring, replusive even. When I see those... people... cattle, I'm convinced I've made the right decision. Guidance councellor be damned. Do you know what I'm saying? No?" He points the object at the head of his companion and pulls the trigger, quickly, quietly. "No" he sighs, throwing the object back on the bed and wrapping his companion in the plastic beneath. "Nobody understands me"
The warm amber halogen lights to the apartment turn on, the large red door closes. "Baby!?" he asks, a quick loving sound of Baby replies as she bounces onto the kitchen counter and purrs to greet him. "Miss me?" he puts the matte black metal suitcase down "Daddy just has to wash his hands" he explains, walking to the bathroom, making sure to wash both sides of each hand four times and scrub his fingernails. After cleaning the mirror and the bathroom just to make sure, vacuuming his lounge room just to make sure, changing his sheets just to be sure, feeding and brushing Baby, he sits, a warm green tea in hand, opposite his computer. He waits for the computer to boot up by going through his Swedish furniture catalogue, circling what he wants, the Bëklus shelf series, the Miningrodä chaise/couch combination provided in a sophisticated brown, tan or black leather. Baby jumps up into his lap and nestles lovingly into him "I love you too" he laughs, stroking the nape of Baby's neck, she purrs. He checks his mail, discarding the advertisements and promotions for soft porn and longer erections with disdain, settling on an important email, opening it. "It looks like Daddy's finally getting a head in this industry" he smiled, tapping the desk in excitement. "Tarquin? That's a funny name."
Thursday, September 4, 2008
By Definition, A Crush Must Hurt 4
"Killing isn't like smoking. You can stop."
- Catherine, Basic Instinct
The halfway house lay in disarray among the small centenary houses of the neighbourhood. The setting Sun threw blood orange and gold onto everything, betraying Winter's depart. The air, while warm and relaxed, let it be known that the nights were still cold. But for now, for the brief period at the end of the day, the neighbourhood borough was a hive of people enjoying the weather and trying to forget that they lived in the same street as the neglected halfway house. Many nights recently there had been cars picking up and letting off, not to mention a great deal more shouting and domestic fury at the elderly hovel. Tarquin stood outside the house, the lattice that had originally meant to prevent prying eyes from seeing under the porch was all but completely destroyed leaving the dark lightless din of the underside of the house exposed. While not showing it, this unnerved Tarquin, recently developing quite the irrational fear of the dark. Even within his apartment Tarquin was loathed to plunge himself into complete night, resorting to leaving the toilet light on permanently.
Tarquin knocked on the chipped white pine front door. The door was surprisingly prompt to open, a small blonde haired young man sticking his face out to greet Tarquin. "Yes?" the small blonde haired young man predicated. Tarquin cleared his throat " Hi, I was wondering if I could speak with you about som..."
"I don't answer questions from pigs" Blonde haired man spat
"I'm not the police, I'm just... looking for someone and they used to stay here..."
"Lot's of people stay here dude and it's hard to keep up with all these bastards..."
"Please, I just need to ask you a few questions..." Tarquin scrambled for a picture in his pocket
"Sorry, bud I got shit to do..." Blonde haired man went to close the door but Tarquin stopped him, jamming it with his foot and pushing the door open. "Listen fuckwit, you're going to tell me what you know about Osric Dangerfield" Tarquin loomed over the emaciated junkie, presenting the picture of his brother clearly. "I know he stayed here and I know you must know something. I'm his brother." There was a pause as the blonde haired man studied Tarquin.
"His brother huh?" Tarquin nodded, panting. "Why didn't you say so?" he added, motioning for Tarquin to enter the warren. "If I'd have known you were Ozzie's brother I wouldn't of been such an asshole. Bastard still has all of his stuff here, even though I'm lettin' Steph sleep in there bastard has paid up to the rest of the month so it's still his room. Don't tell him Steph is sleepin' in his bed" Blonde haired man stopped in the long hallway, turning to Tarquin "He hates Steph." the pseudo whisper was followed by a wet, staggered cough "Name's Carmine" offering the wet coughed on hand to Tarquin "Tarquin." he replied with an awkward wave. Carmine opened the door to a room off shooting the dank hallway "Steph!" he shouted "Fuck off! This is Ozzie's brother." No response from the female figure lying in the unmade bed "Steph! Wake the fuck up you stupid bitch!" Steph, groggily awoke with a question and was promptly shoved out into the dank corridor, cursing and screaming as she went "... don't tell Ozzie I was sleeping in his bed!" she finished, walking down into the main living quarter, mumbling inaudible curses of Carmine's name as she went. "Ozzie was always pretty clean as you can see" Carmine explained as Tarquin ignored, engrossed in where his brother used to live. "Thankyou Carmine. I'll just have a look around for a moment."
"Uhh... yeah... sure. If you need any..."
"Thanks Carmine."
The door closed, leaving Osric's brother in his Osric's room. The walls, a pale yellow and the atmosphere stale. Dust and vermin droppings clogged the old vents in the corner of the ceiling, leading straight into the roof space. A chest of drawers, an old TV, a dirty mirror, a picture tacked on it. Tarquin inspected the woman in the Polaroid, he face smiling with Osric beside her. Who is she?. A knock on the door interupted Tarquin's inspection and Carmine's bird like revere stuck through. "Heya, I thought you may want to know. Ozzie was back on the gear. I wasn't gonna tell nobody cuz he used to pay a bit more for the room... But if Ozzie is in some kinda trouble... He was a good dude, wierd dude, but a good dude"
"Did Ozzie hang around or bring anyone over?"
"Naw, I don't think so. I never saw him bring anyone over. Dude kinda kept to himself most of the time." Carmine smacked his tongue, remembering the thing he came in for "Ozzie left his phone here. Motherfucker's been ringing non stop for a couple 'o days." he added, offering the small phone to Tarquin "You haven't answered it?"
"Do I look like a secretary to you?"
"Thanks" replied Tarquin, taking the phone and the photo off the mirror "You don't know who this is do you Carmine?" Carmine squinted.
"Sorry champ, wish I could help you."
"How much is rent here?"
"Hundred a week"
"Mind if I come back?" Tarquin asked handing Carmine two hundred dollars.
"Nah, come anytime. I'll even keep that stupid slut Steph out for you if you want?"
"That's fine thankyou" Tarquin pocketed the polaroid and mobile phone.
"Is Ozzie okay?" Carmine asked innocently, following Tarquin out of the house.
"No..." Tarquin replied, stepping off the erroded porch step into the dusk "No he isn't".
To be continued...
- Catherine, Basic Instinct
The halfway house lay in disarray among the small centenary houses of the neighbourhood. The setting Sun threw blood orange and gold onto everything, betraying Winter's depart. The air, while warm and relaxed, let it be known that the nights were still cold. But for now, for the brief period at the end of the day, the neighbourhood borough was a hive of people enjoying the weather and trying to forget that they lived in the same street as the neglected halfway house. Many nights recently there had been cars picking up and letting off, not to mention a great deal more shouting and domestic fury at the elderly hovel. Tarquin stood outside the house, the lattice that had originally meant to prevent prying eyes from seeing under the porch was all but completely destroyed leaving the dark lightless din of the underside of the house exposed. While not showing it, this unnerved Tarquin, recently developing quite the irrational fear of the dark. Even within his apartment Tarquin was loathed to plunge himself into complete night, resorting to leaving the toilet light on permanently.
Tarquin knocked on the chipped white pine front door. The door was surprisingly prompt to open, a small blonde haired young man sticking his face out to greet Tarquin. "Yes?" the small blonde haired young man predicated. Tarquin cleared his throat " Hi, I was wondering if I could speak with you about som..."
"I don't answer questions from pigs" Blonde haired man spat
"I'm not the police, I'm just... looking for someone and they used to stay here..."
"Lot's of people stay here dude and it's hard to keep up with all these bastards..."
"Please, I just need to ask you a few questions..." Tarquin scrambled for a picture in his pocket
"Sorry, bud I got shit to do..." Blonde haired man went to close the door but Tarquin stopped him, jamming it with his foot and pushing the door open. "Listen fuckwit, you're going to tell me what you know about Osric Dangerfield" Tarquin loomed over the emaciated junkie, presenting the picture of his brother clearly. "I know he stayed here and I know you must know something. I'm his brother." There was a pause as the blonde haired man studied Tarquin.
"His brother huh?" Tarquin nodded, panting. "Why didn't you say so?" he added, motioning for Tarquin to enter the warren. "If I'd have known you were Ozzie's brother I wouldn't of been such an asshole. Bastard still has all of his stuff here, even though I'm lettin' Steph sleep in there bastard has paid up to the rest of the month so it's still his room. Don't tell him Steph is sleepin' in his bed" Blonde haired man stopped in the long hallway, turning to Tarquin "He hates Steph." the pseudo whisper was followed by a wet, staggered cough "Name's Carmine" offering the wet coughed on hand to Tarquin "Tarquin." he replied with an awkward wave. Carmine opened the door to a room off shooting the dank hallway "Steph!" he shouted "Fuck off! This is Ozzie's brother." No response from the female figure lying in the unmade bed "Steph! Wake the fuck up you stupid bitch!" Steph, groggily awoke with a question and was promptly shoved out into the dank corridor, cursing and screaming as she went "... don't tell Ozzie I was sleeping in his bed!" she finished, walking down into the main living quarter, mumbling inaudible curses of Carmine's name as she went. "Ozzie was always pretty clean as you can see" Carmine explained as Tarquin ignored, engrossed in where his brother used to live. "Thankyou Carmine. I'll just have a look around for a moment."
"Uhh... yeah... sure. If you need any..."
"Thanks Carmine."
The door closed, leaving Osric's brother in his Osric's room. The walls, a pale yellow and the atmosphere stale. Dust and vermin droppings clogged the old vents in the corner of the ceiling, leading straight into the roof space. A chest of drawers, an old TV, a dirty mirror, a picture tacked on it. Tarquin inspected the woman in the Polaroid, he face smiling with Osric beside her. Who is she?. A knock on the door interupted Tarquin's inspection and Carmine's bird like revere stuck through. "Heya, I thought you may want to know. Ozzie was back on the gear. I wasn't gonna tell nobody cuz he used to pay a bit more for the room... But if Ozzie is in some kinda trouble... He was a good dude, wierd dude, but a good dude"
"Did Ozzie hang around or bring anyone over?"
"Naw, I don't think so. I never saw him bring anyone over. Dude kinda kept to himself most of the time." Carmine smacked his tongue, remembering the thing he came in for "Ozzie left his phone here. Motherfucker's been ringing non stop for a couple 'o days." he added, offering the small phone to Tarquin "You haven't answered it?"
"Do I look like a secretary to you?"
"Thanks" replied Tarquin, taking the phone and the photo off the mirror "You don't know who this is do you Carmine?" Carmine squinted.
"Sorry champ, wish I could help you."
"How much is rent here?"
"Hundred a week"
"Mind if I come back?" Tarquin asked handing Carmine two hundred dollars.
"Nah, come anytime. I'll even keep that stupid slut Steph out for you if you want?"
"That's fine thankyou" Tarquin pocketed the polaroid and mobile phone.
"Is Ozzie okay?" Carmine asked innocently, following Tarquin out of the house.
"No..." Tarquin replied, stepping off the erroded porch step into the dusk "No he isn't".
To be continued...
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